The Words
by TheRavenclawAthena
Summary: The Book Thief. A story about how Max brought the words to Liesel, and about their friendship. (NOT Max x Liesel).
1. The Gift of the Words

It was Papa who had taught her how to read the words, but the Jew who had led her to discover the world behind them, behind the printed letters on the cement wall of the basement, behind the elegant letters in the pages of the books in Frau Hermann's library. It was the Jew who showed her how to use the words, to form them to do her bidding. To shape them into a vivid weather report, or a story to calm the people huddled in someone's basement during an air raid, or a diary that told the story of her life.

And to Liesel Meminger, the words were very important. From The Gravedigger's Handbook that symbolized losing a brother and gaining a father to The Standover Man which meant gaining a friend from a most unlikely source, words controlled Liesel's life. And she gladly let them control her.

That is, until she met the Jew.

He had come to them in the dead of night, with the memory of an accordion on his tongue and his hair like feathers. Max Vandenburg was his name, Jew was his story, the book was in his hand.

She'd asked him if it was good, a hushed question whispered hurriedly in the dead of night.

"It saved my life," was his response, and Liesel didn't doubt it.

Max was the one who taught Liesel the power of the words, but more importantly, her power over them. And just like that, all distinctions between them faded away. Not German, not Jew, but a girl and a man who were brought together by the words. Here was a man who taught her more about life than anyone else had. Not a Jew anymore, but Max. Her friend.

She understood why he held the keys to this magical world. His life was such a living hell that he'd turned to the one thing that remained constant, the one thing he had power over as his world spun out of orbit and the mother he'd left behind haunted his dreams.

You'd think having a Jew in your basement would show you the distinctions between German and Jew. But not to Liesel. Both had to eat Mama's soup, both had secrets, both were permanently hungry and dirty. No, what Max taught Liesel was not that they were different, but that they were the same.

And they were.

Because in the end, the words saved both of their lives.


	2. The Power of the Words

The words enveloped her like a blanket, gracing her skin and igniting her mind; for the first time in her life, she felt wholly, utterly alive. Empowerment surged through her veins as she realized fully what she could do, what an impact the words she now possessed could have on the world. The words could be utilized for good or for evil, for beauty or for danger; she could control or manipulate people with them, or she could bestow the blessing of language upon grateful ears. She could harness unsuspecting and illiterate people and use them to do her bidding; she could seek power, and obtain it. To correctly use the words: What a challenge! But she embraced the intoxicating and incendiary words and the heavy responsibility they brought wholeheartedly; never hesitating, never flinching in the face of such a possibility of disaster.

But why? Why wasn't the young girl frightened of the words, scared by the gift of language she'd been given in the form of a snow-covered, morbid book snatched at her brother's graveside? The answer was simple: She didn't yet comprehend the harm they could do, unintentionally or, much worse, purposefully. The girl only knew the beauty of them, the way they spelled out wonderful tales in her books, the way she could take a strand of thought from her own mind and weave it into a story for other people to hear and catch a glimpse of her very soul. The way her mouth breathed out the warm words that filled up the cold terror of the basement during a bomb raid, inspiring everyone to keep hoping and keep living. She only saw the beauty of them, and therefore only used them for beautiful purposes. Teaching, writing, reading, and, best of them all, learning. Her mind grew as she soaked in the words hungrily; she couldn't get enough of them. She loved, and she laughed, and most of all, she learned the wonderfully poignant lessons of childhood.

But there would come a day, a fateful, tragic day, when the girl would learn an evil lesson she could never forget: how to use the words to harm others. Words make up our souls, and so words can destroy us. One day, her brain would consider the most harmful combination to tear down a soul, and, alas, she would be successful. She would stand on the doorstep of the one who cultivated her gift with tenderness and hurl horrible things at the fragile woman's already-bruised face. Evil words are much easier to use than good, but the damage from them is irreparable, both on the person to which you are speaking and to yourself. The girl would enjoy the feeling of power lashing out verbally gave her, and she would strike at others more and more often.

Eventually, however, the beautiful words would return again. They would illuminate her mind in the old, familiar way, and she would embrace them fondly. In the end, the only real way to use words in the way they were intended: for good, for learning and teaching, and never for harm.

And in the end, the good words would save her life.


End file.
